


Stay in the Saddle

by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bull Rider Derek, Comfort fic, Disabled Peter, Fluff, Gay Romance, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Prompt Fic, Rodeo Bulls, Rodeo Clown Stiles, Rodeo Competitions, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, hale pack feels, recovering peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiguresan/pseuds/HyperLittleNori
Summary: The rush of adrenaline still pounding in Derek’s veins turned shivery and liquid. A breathless laugh tumbled over his lips, unbidden and then Stiles snatched the sound with his mouth. They were a mess of tangled limbs and frantic kisses.“I basically get paid to ride the adrenaline rush and stare at you all day, I have it so good.”Derek chuckled against Stiles’s kisses. If riding gave him the thrill he needed to keep him from falling back into the dark abyss of the past, then Stiles was the startlingly bright sunlight, almost blinding with its brilliance that chased the lingering shadows away.





	Stay in the Saddle

**Author's Note:**

> Crystal wanted either of the following: “1) Bull rider Derek and Rodeo clown Stiles or 2) Derek is a professional athlete and Stiles is their mascot. He pulls pranks on fans and team members (mainly Derek and Coach Finstock, but mostly Derek) and the fans love him” I went for the first one but squeezed Finstock in there too ;) I got really carried away with this one. I was really whisked away on a whirlwind here so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing.  
> Also thank you to my lovely Shibi who shared her expertise on rodeo so I could write this. We don't have rodeos over here so beforehand my knowledge was limited to the glimpses you see of it in Canada's TV show 'Heartland' ;)

**Stay in the Saddle**

Adrenaline coursed through Derek’s veins, his limbs practically vibrating as he struggled to contain it all, to stand still and wait. He was almost up. There was a buzz in the crowd. Excitement was palatable in the air and the sugary scent of sodas and snacks, animals and too many bodies cramped together mixed with the smell of sand and hay. He inhaled, letting the rush flow through him, letting it build the fire in his belly he couldn’t get anywhere else.

Or at least, only one place else.

This was what made him feel alive.

“Hale!” Finstock called from where he was standing to the side of the holding pen. “You’re up.” As ever, there was a wild light in his eyes, almost gleeful, even as he took a step back from the pen when the bull shifted in anticipation. Wild Thunder was a bit of a beast, unreliable, and if Derek could stay on him until the buzzer sounded, it’d mean big money, more than enough to see Cora through the rest of school. He was still a challenge to overcome though, and the risk of exposure, if not the risk of serious injury, made Derek’s steps quicker than usual.

Derek may have been Finstock’s cash-cow in these events, with his willingness to take even the wildest rides, but Derek thought that it was about the rush for Finstock too, had always been. The money was necessary but the adrenaline was the selling point.

As ever, as soon as Derek approached the pen, the bull gave an uneasy huff, disconcerted by Derek’s scent, the otherness of it. It was what had drawn the crowds in to see him, Derek thought, that the bulls were always just a little more riled up when he rode them, even if humans didn’t get why.

_“They really don’t like you Hale, do they?”_

_“You certainly have a way with beasts.”_

Let them think he was unlucky or that he was just moody enough that it projected onto the animals, whatever distracted them from the truth.

“Easy there,” he said instinctually and Derek thought the bull seemed to almost reassess him, even as Derek climbed over the pen and then onto his back. He fidgeted, the bars of the pen a somewhat calming enclosure as Derek gripped the rope. The bull gave a grunt, shifting its hooves, already wanting away from him, from the smell of predator.

“Make it to the bell kid, just make it to the bell,” Finstock said, fidgety as ever, a glimmer of madness in his eyes that Derek had always quite liked about him. He clapped Derek’s shoulder encouragingly.

“It’s a buzzer, Coach,” Derek corrected as always, because this was something of a good luck mantra of Finstock’s, had been since he’d showed Derek the ropes.

“To the bell, Hale.”

There was a split-second then, that Derek caught a familiar scent, turned his head just in time to see a familiar sun-kissed face at the edges of the fence. Their eyes met across the arena. The rodeo clowns were dressed similarly to the bull riders, decorative western button-up shirts, neckerchiefs, jeans and boots, the classic hats. Derek’s eyes locked on the red detailing around the collar, so tantalisingly close to the bruising that _just_ peeked over the top of the black shirt.

Stiles tipped the rim of his hat at him.

Derek’s breath caught in his chest.

The sound of the gate crashing open was like a gunshot ripping through his body. He clamped his thighs down on the bull’s sides as it tore into the arena, writhing, bucking kicking. Derek’s fingers went numb, burned as he held on, even as he felt the rope-burn heal instantaneously. The crowd roared and the bull’s heartbeat rushed along with Derek’s, like for a brief moment they were the same being.

The buzzer sounded, Derek held on a little longer, as long as he could without exerting any supernatural strength or pressure that could hurt the bull. He had enough give in the grip of his thighs that when the bull bucked again, he slipped, let himself go. He tucked his arms in as he rolled off. Clammy hands gripped his arms, helped him to his feet and Derek and one of the rodeo clowns he thought was called Isaac dove up over the fence.

Derek turned, watching the bull charge the two clowns left in the ring. Stiles’s heart was pounding as he darted in front of its path, drawing the bull’s attention to him when it got too close to his colleague. It charged and Stiles ran, long legs awkward but _fast,_ carrying him into the pen. The bull charged in after and Derek felt his stomach flip as Stiles dove through the gap in the fence _just_ in time to avoid being trampled.

The crowd roared and Derek’s pulse soared with the rush. He checked Isaac was alright before making his way through the crowds, toward the voices. When he got there, Stiles was still sprawled on his backside on the ground, smiling up at Finstock even as he gave a nervous laugh. Derek glared down at him as he came to stand over him.

“You nearly got yourself killed.” His tone was flat, hard.

Stiles beamed up at him goofily. “Okay, next time I’ll let Theo get squashed.”

“Do it, Theo’s an asshole.” Derek’s tone didn’t alter.

Stiles laughed again and Derek rolled his eyes with an irritation that didn’t quite touch his eyes as he offered a hand down to pull Stiles to his feet.

“You did it!” Finstock crowed as he clapped both of Derek’s shoulders, shoving Stiles aside to jump on the spot with delight. “You’re in the semi-finals, kid!” He clapped Derek’s face then like an overzealous aunt. “They are practically chanting your name out there, Hale. They are going crazy for you…”

Even as he was caught in the maelstrom of Finstock’s glee, Derek saw Stiles moving out of sight into the crowds. He gave Derek a wink. It was an utter cliché move that gripped Derek by the balls. Everything in his lower body tightened at the sight of it.

When he finally escaped, he let his feet carry him toward the changing rooms, eyes on his phone’s web browser as he walked. He studied the statistics as they were updated, mentally calculating how many points he’d need to keep ahead of the competition at the semi-final. Finstock made a lot of money off him from the bets and from the attendees, which Derek didn’t begrudge him, not when he’d given Derek a solid place to work, some sense of security (unpredictable as it was) after the fire. But Derek really needed this money.

With his winnings from today paying for Cora’s final year at college, the money for first place could mean finally having a down payment for a bigger place for all of them, not just the cramped apartment he, Cora, Laura shared, the one that couldn’t even fit Peter’s wheelchair.

Their family had had good insurance, but Peter’s place in the best care facility available over the last few years and his hospital bills hadn’t come cheap. He was healing slowly, miraculously fast by human standards but still not fast enough and the cost of a decent nurse who offered frequent one-to-one visits and the rehabilitation centre to give him the best possible recovery? It all added up. The money had all-but dried up within the first year and Laura’s job as an ER intern, while amazing, was not paid well at all.

This money could set them free from the past at last, in at least in terms of finances. He needed this. _They_ needed this. He couldn’t afford to get cocky or distracted.

The changing room was a large space divided up into cubicles. For each event they were assigned a cubicle and given their own key for the day. As Derek slipped into his usual booth, he sensed Stiles draw close and slip in behind him.

“So congratulations are in order then?” Stiles mused, voice husky with want, his scent spiking.

Derek couldn’t help the way his lips twitched in fond amusement as he heard the bolt in the door snick shut. When Derek turned to face him, Stiles had taken his own hat off and hung it on one of the hooks along the side of the door, even as his eyes roved over Derek’s white shirt and dark suede vest.

Stiles loosened his own shirt collar, undoing the top few buttons and then reached for Derek. He tugged him close by the blue neckerchief so their lips were so close. Derek could almost taste his breath and Stiles’s face was shadowed by passion as well as the brim of Derek’s hat.

“You always look mighty fine in this get-up,” Stiles said in the world’s poorest cowboy impression. His fingertips dipped behind the neckerchief and stole the briefest, glancing touches of Derek’s throat and collarbone.

The rush of adrenaline still pounding in Derek’s veins turned shivery and liquid. A breathless laugh tumbled over his lips, unbidden and then Stiles snatched the sound with his mouth. “Watching you always gets me so hot,” Stiles panted between kisses, lips breaking apart wetly then coming together again with increasing urgency.

Derek tugged at his jeans, jerking them open so they hung open around his hips before fumbling at Stiles’s. They were a mess of tangled limbs and frantic kisses.

“I basically get paid to ride the adrenaline rush and stare at you all day, I have it so good.”

Derek chuckled against Stiles’s kisses. If riding gave him the thrill he needed to keep him from falling back into the dark abyss of the past, then Stiles was the startlingly bright sunlight, almost blinding with its brilliance that chased the lingering shadows away. Derek bore him to the wall, hearing the stall door rattle and protest even as he sucked at the side of Stiles’s throat that he’d already marked the previous day. He licked gently at the tender bruising he’d made that sang to all his instincts and urges.

Stiles’s fingers knotted in his hair, knocking the hat he was still wearing slightly and Stiles laughed too, so easy, so effortlessly, lighting Derek up from the inside like Christmas.

“You drive me crazy,” Derek groaned, nuzzling into his cheek and jaw.

“Mmm,” Stiles agreed nonsensically, squeezing his ass through the worn-smooth denim almost regretfully. “You free tonight? I really outta get back out there. Pretty sure Finstock doesn’t pay me for this kind of activity.” Even as he spoke though, he didn’t attempt to extricate himself, just let his hands smooth over Derek’s shoulders, come to rest on Derek’s chest, stroking it restlessly through his rodeo cowboy garb.

Sometimes, Derek thought Finstock’s favourite part of this whole setup was the costumes.

“With the amount of money I just earned him, I think he’ll deal,” Derek murmured against his lips again as he stole another kiss, tugging at Stiles’s open collar to try and get at more skin, more warmth.

Stiles’s answering chuckle was a soft huff of hot breath against his own spit-moistened lips. “I’m not sure how I feel about idea of being bought in such a manner, Mister Hale,” Stiles lamented as he licked Derek’s ear.

Derek grumbled his approval for the touch, backing up until he dropped onto the narrow bench at the back of the booth and dragged Stiles down onto his lap. “How does that feel?”

Stiles’s grin reached all the way up to his eyes, glittered there with affection, fondness and lust all at once.

“Much better,” he teased, leaning down to kiss Derek’s lips.

*

When she’d been alive, his mother always used to say that nobody ever found anything when they were looking for it. When Derek had stumbled into this lifestyle, found himself under Finstock’s wing, he hadn’t been searching for anything other than a way to make money and a way to lose himself, escape all that had happened. He hadn’t expected to find Stiles.

Derek braced his arms on the arena’s gate, watching as Stiles and the other rodeo clowns dove in to distract the bull when the rider fell. Stiles was fast and unpredictable with his limbs, so much so that even the bull never quite knew where to go with him. Sometimes even Derek, who had instincts that enabled him to pick up on subtle hints at a change of direction or escape strategies, often was caught by surprise by his reckless bravery, his disregard for his own safety in the face of someone else’s.

He’d arrived here at the start of the season though, looking for a job that paid well and fast. Somehow he’d managed to break through every defence Derek had put around himself. It’d started with cocky little winks and winning grins whenever they bumped into each other, but then one day, completely disregarding every ounce of anti-social behaviour that Derek tried hard to maintain, he’d marched right up to Derek and asked him out for coffee. Derek had been so shocked that he’d said yes.

Derek watched him from the sidelines, accepted the homemade sandwiches he brought in frequently to share with him after everyone was gone. He lived for the moments when Stiles would flaunt the ‘free coffee’ tokens they’d earned by the sheer amount of coffee dates they’d gone on.

He was different to anyone Derek had ever encountered before, awkward but not shy, chatty and gossipy as hell but not insipid or stupid. He wore his faults and his heart on his sleeve without an ounce of shame, even admitted how hypocritical it was him just _being_ here, since he’d never really agreed with the rodeo, even one run as well as Finstock’s. He had this breezy, carefree frenetic energy that Derek envied and so when he’d seen him that night, just a month or so after they’d started _whatever_ this was, it’d been a shock to see the stress, the heartache behind that glorious chaos…

*

_Beacon Hills Memorial Rehabilitation Centre_ had a mixture of patients with varying needs, but they each had dedicated staff assigned to them, which was partly why it cost so much. It was where they’d moved Peter as soon as he’d been released from the hospital. It offered the best recovery rate but it was also the one place they could guarantee Peter would have someone to talk to regularly, rather than being bed or chair-bound with no company for hours on end while Derek, Laura or Cora were at work or school.

Laura’s job at the local ER demanded most of her time but she made it when she could and otherwise Derek and Cora split the time between them. It wasn’t that visiting with Peter was a chore, but seeing him, their alpha, so weakened by what had happened, so limited, was always difficult. He knew Peter had sensed his approach before he’d even stepped foot in the elevator but he didn’t look up from his task. Instead he braced himself on the parallel bars as he paused only a few feet along, face crumpled with pain and determination both.

“Come on Peter, don’t you give up on me now, you promised me a few more steps today, right?” Kira, one of Peter’s nurses, encouraged firmly.

Peter swore under his breath and Derek leaned against the doorframe, watching his uncle’s struggle. The house and his family had been devoured by flames yet somehow Peter had managed to get out. Driven by rage, adrenaline and the sudden rush of alpha strength that had risen up in him as his sister died, he’d torn the hunters outside apart. He’d killed the random fanatic hunters for what they’d done, but only just before he’d succumbed to his own wounds.

It’d been the wolfsbane in the flames that had done it, made the injuries that a werewolf could’ve healed so much more difficult to recover from. He could see it now, the skin of Peter’s face shiny and mottled still even after all these years. He could see his muscles struggling to remember how to function. Peter had always been so independent and powerful that reminding him a human likely wouldn’t have recovered even this far didn’t encourage him either.

That was another reason Laura had chosen this care facility. Many of the members of staff were connected to the supernatural somehow, which was ideal for not only understanding their supernatural patients’ conditions, but also easily hiding ‘impossible’ magically advanced healing from those on the ‘outside’.

Derek watched his uncle though, watched him press on through the tightness in his muscles. Pain and hopelessness emanated from him as obviously as the smell of exertion. But he didn’t stop. He was near-enough dragging himself by the end, with Kira reminding him to try to use the bars as an aid, rather than a crutch, to allow just a little weight on his legs. He snapped at her aloud this time and Derek saw the red alpha flare there now, the spark.

When Peter got to the end, when he stood there, legs trembling, chest heaving as Kira quickly aided him into the waiting chair, Derek felt pride swell in his chest.

That right there was why Peter had become the alpha after, he was sure. He had a sheer bloody-minded determination to not give up. It was what had inspired him to hold on this long. Peter was as cynical as they came and he hadn’t given up hoping for survival, for _life_ even when things looked bleak. Derek wasn’t going to give up either.

_Just make it to the bell, kid, make it to the bell,_ he heard Finstock say.

_Then we’ll deal with what comes after,_ his mind supplied. _One day at a time._

He wondered if that kind of determined healing and slow slog through the bad had made him able to accept the playful warmth Stiles had offered him so easily? Like a plant that had endured a brutal, winter finally opening up for the spring sunlight.

At that moment, Peter looked up from his chair as he dabbed his sweat-streaked face with the towel Kira passed him “Still riding cows, nephew?” Peter called out with feigned derision.

The corner of Derek’s lips quirked in spite of himself and he pushed off the doorframe. “I’ll take him from here, Kira,” he said gratefully, taking the bowl of water off her to sponge Peter’s chest and face of the perspiration.

He tried not to listen here, but sometimes he couldn’t help overhearing other residents refusing the help of their family at times like this. Whether it was simply their dispositions though, or the werewolf pack bond, it felt wrong to stand by and watch another care for his alpha, his pack mate and Peter always seemed a lot more comfortable when one of them tended to him, like the pack caring for each other’s wounds, licking them clean.

“You did well today,” Derek said as he sponged his uncle’s chest and back clean, then reached for the towel. Peter was withdrawn today, quiet. Sometimes he was better, sometimes he made digs at Derek and offered his usual witty anecdotes on Derek’s life. Today was a hard day, it seemed. Derek had to drag every response out of him and he’d barely even managed a half-smile out of his uncle by the time he dismissed Derek’s company, long after the sky outside the luxurious expanse of windows had gone dark.

It was just one of the hard days, he tried to remind himself, only yesterday Peter had been teasing him because he’d forgotten to take off his neckerchief from work before he’d come to visit. There would be hard days for Peter, even after he’d recovered his independence and ability to walk, but there would be good days too. Just like there was for him.

When had optimism become such a ready counteraction against melancholy, he wondered? It wasn’t his default setting, but rather something that had grown on him in the last few weeks.

As if summoned by the power of his mind, a familiar scent stopped Derek in his tracks on his way through the communal reception lounge toward the exit. Stiles was in a chair in the corner, away from the last few residents and their visitors who lingered in the room. He held a take away cup of coffee between his hands like a lifeline, his thumbs worrying the card grip as he stared into the contents. He looked worn, eyes tired as Derek had never seen him.

He hesitated. This, whatever it was, kisses and coffee lunches and shared sandwiches and flirtatious little smiles and cowboy euphemisms? It didn’t make him privy to the kind of pain that was etched into Stiles’s face. It wasn’t his business. If Stiles had wanted him to know, he would’ve told him.

Yet since the start of the season he’d felt himself slowly prised from his shell by those kisses and smiles and terrible jokes, by eyes like dark honey. He had been so focussed inward, toward his pain, his family’s problems that he’d gotten so used to letting that consume him. Now he could see beyond it.

It wasn’t entirely gone but like mist he could trudge through even on the bad days. See happiness through, see others suffering just like him. Stiles had helped with that, had cleared the previously heavy fog and smoke with his chaotic gestures and constant movement. And now Stiles looked like he was the one who was lost.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice a little ragged with exhaustion himself but gentle, like Stiles was one of the animals that would spook at the sight of him.

Stiles’s head jerked up, coffee cup dropping from his hands and Derek dipped, grabbing it effortlessly before it’d descended more than an inch. The action though, it brought him near-enough to his knees in front of Stiles, staring at a level into his eyes that still sparkled even through the tiredness. They were wide with surprise, but the tension around them seemed to dwindle a little and his cheeks pinked slightly, the way they always did when he smiled at Derek.

Even without the smile, Derek found himself drawn inward, like a boat toward a lighthouse in the storm.

His lips twitched in a soft little smile, the same way Stiles’s mouth did when he was trying to drag Derek out of his shell. He wondered if it felt as inevitable to Stiles as it did to Derek, the instinctive motion to try and draw themselves back to some place lighter, warmer. He pressed the cup into Stiles’s hands and gently closed his fingers around the cardboard, keeping them covered with his own even after it was secured again in Stiles’s grip.

“Are you hungry?”

Stiles looked as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like somehow that inconsequential question had reminded him he wasn’t spinning out alone in the dimness.

“Oh man, I could kill for a burger and curly fries right now.”

They whizzed through the closest DriveThru, then Derek pulled up on one of the long stretches of road alongside the preserve and they sprawled out in the truck bed, devouring take out in the humid night.

“You’re really not gonna ask me, huh?” Stiles asked as he swallowed the last of his burger and pulled the rest of his curly fries toward him.

Derek shrugged. On the whole way there Stiles had been quiet. Derek had been too, of course, but a quiet Stiles was something he hadn’t felt before. There was something vulnerable about him like this. It was humbling too, that he would allow Derek to see it. “I don’t have to know the details to know the thing you need right now is company, whether to distract you or just to remind you to take care of yourself. It’s not my place to pressure you.”

Stiles studied him carefully, leaving Derek feeling exposed as he seemed now, both of them metaphorically naked in the dark, nowhere to hide.

“My dad was in an accident a few months ago,” he said quietly, looking down to where his fingers, in constant motion, were worrying the rim of his soda lid. “It was on our ranch back home. It was pretty bad, he nearly lost his leg which…”

Stiles set his jaw, running a hand over his face and exhaling deeply. Even as he spoke though, the tightness to his limbs that Derek had always assumed was just his fidgety nervous energy was beginning to ease. Tension then, cleverly concealed behind wit and chatter. Another side of him that Derek hadn’t seen before, that he thought not many people had _ever_ seen.

“He had good insurance, but when he got out of the ICU they recommended a rehab centre and places like the _Beacon Memorial Centre_ are…well, you know yourself. They’re the best but they don’t come cheap. We’re having to top up his expenses with our own money.”

Derek just watched him quietly for a moment as it all clicked into place. “That’s why you’re working the rodeo, to make some extra money.”

Stiles shrugged, a little awkwardly but said nothing more, didn’t meet Derek’s eyes. Whether it was because he was embarrassed about the lack of money or just from exposing this part of himself, Derek wasn’t sure but he could relate to both. He’d never been particularly gifted in knowing the right thing to say, however, so instead he set his polystyrene container of barely touched curly fries onto the truck bed between them and nudged them toward Stiles.

“You’re one of those people that I think could make anything work for you, but it never really seemed your style, the rodeo,” he offered.

Stiles just blinked, apparently transfixed by the offering of curly fries and everything that meant and everything they didn’t. His eyes flashed up to Derek’s as if to reassure himself. They’d shared food before, shared a lot more than that but this felt different somehow. Everything was different.

“Thanks,” he said, pulling the box toward him and munching a few fries as he apparently considered his answer. “I mean, I like it okay, Finstock does his best by the animals, it’s all above board. Or as much as it can be. It’s just…” He tipped his head back to rest it against the cab of the truck, staring up at the sky as the clouds crept across the stars. “It’s not where I’m meant to be. The ranch, my mom and dad raised that from the ground with my mom’s father – he was who I was nicknamed after, you know? _Stiles_? And I’ve always known my future was in that place. The rodeo is good money and it lets me still work the ranch but with dad at the hospital it needs my full attention really. I _want_ to give it my full attention, like my mom did and I can’t. And dad hates being stuck indoors, hates feeling weak and I feel so…”

“Helpless?” Derek suggested and Stiles rolled his head to look at him. It felt like being more naked than any groping, urgent sex and teasing or even long kisses could’ve made them. Stiles seemed speechless, for once, stunned to silence by the connection surging up between them, more powerful and deeper than the initial attraction that had drawn them together.

Derek offered him a tiny smile as he too rested his head back against the cab, staring heavenward, even as his fingers crept across to cover Stiles’s. After the briefest hesitation, Stiles’s fingers curled around his in return.

They talked for some time after that, about the fire, the need for money, how Finstock had given Derek the perfect distraction and quick cash solution he’d needed while they’d waited for the insurance to come through. How he’d kept going back because he’d been too lost to figure out a better way.

It seemed it’d been pretty similar for Stiles too.

Like an inevitable flood, it all burst through the dam neither of them had realised was there in all the weeks of their intimate, light-hearted closeness. It rushed out all at once and then tapered into a slow, easy current, which spread and branched off into new streams. They all connected back to the one place they were anchored together though, sitting close in the barely-there light.

Whatever this was between them had been established through distracting bliss but reinforced by hardship, it seemed.

Derek had never felt so free, so connected to someone in his entire life.

He spoke about Peter, Laura and Cora, about how he’d met Finstock and Stiles spoke about his dad. His referral there had timed perfectly with the start of the season so Stiles working there was a no brainer. Derek always dialled back his senses to avoid the inevitably private sounds and unwanted smells that came with even the cleanest care facilities, so it made sense he’d never noticed Stiles or his dad before. Stiles though, apparently had seen him leaving a few times, had guessed he had family there but had fought all his instincts to snoop.

Derek laughed at that revelation. “I appreciate the impulse control,” he mused fondly, “I know how difficult that is for you.”

The fries were long gone and Stiles had stolen the last of Derek’s soda like they were shy teenagers on their first date. They were both older than their years because of the things they’d lost and yet so young in so many other ways. Naïve when it came to the good experiences neither of them had allowed themselves, never trusted anyone to share with until now.

Derek asked Stiles about the ranch, which apparently was a livery but also a riding school.

“Sometimes we rescue horses too and the gentlest ones, we have this…therapeutic grooming session most mornings and underprivileged kids come in and help us groom them, turn them out, sometimes squeeze in a ride or two. It’s extra hands for us and extra opportunities for some kids that get left out too.”

“That sounds…” Derek hesitated because it was so far and away from his world really and so very worthwhile, so much bigger than him and his own needs. “You’re really something,” he said fondly.

A flush suffused Stiles’s cheeks with colour. “Nah, my mom set it all up, she was the person for the people, you know? I’m just…” He scuffed his feet on the truck bed. “I don’t do it for selfless reasons; I’m not selfless, not really. I just want to make her proud. And dad too. Both of us weren’t dreamers, we just want to make her dream carry on. Her legacy.”

Derek wondered if his own family would be proud of him, wherever they were, if they were anywhere. He thought they’d probably want him to do whatever made him happy but his issue had always been he didn’t know what that was. The rodeo was exciting, distracting but it wasn’t _happiness_ , exactly, not for him anyway. It’d started out as a ‘for now’ but over the years he had stopped looking or hoping for more.

“Sorry,” Stiles said, mussing the back of his hair self-consciously when the silence stretched out between them. “I just really killed the light atmosphere, right?”

“No,” Derek said quickly, then more gently, “no, I just…wish I could do something so…fulfilling.”

Stiles stared at him for a long moment, eyes shining almost imperceptibly in the moonlight. “I know we don’t really talk about it,” he ventured hesitantly, “but when you win, when things are…financially stable or whatever, surely you can do whatever you want?”

Derek let out a sigh and stared at the stars once more. “You make it sound simple.”

“It kinda is. Does the rodeo gig make you happy?” Stiles stared at him and when Derek didn’t reply, or even look at him, he ploughed on, “Well if that’s your answer, then you are in the wrong line of work my friend. So…go out there and try something else. Fuck up, change your mind, whatever, find what you want to do through trial and error like everyone else.”

Derek tilted his head to look at him again and when he did, Stiles offered him a shy little smile that made his stomach flip as if he were on the back of a bull. “If you could find something where you get to keep the cowboy hat though, like, that would be totally cool.”

Derek laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was dragged out of him by Stiles like every other laugh or smile in the last month or so. Steadily, bit by bit they seemed to be occurring of their own volition, easier and easier. He leaned in, bearing Stiles down onto the hard truck bed and kissing him swift and hard, so that when he drew back enough to look at him Stiles looked flushed and breathless and perfect.

“You’re one-track minded with your cowboy fetish.”

Stiles grinned. “Dude, it’s like I said, totally selfish and after my own benefits.”

Derek felt a smile creep across his lips. Slowly, he cupped Stiles cheek, light stubble and all and brushed their mouths together.

“Mnn, no, wait,” Stiles breathed longingly, “you’re missing the cowboy hat.”

They smothered their combined laughter with kisses in the dark.

*

Derek watched Stiles from the gate. The rodeo clowns got assigned to each round by luck or convenience and Derek had dusted himself off after his own round to come and watch Stiles run like a possessed animal across the arena. No wonder he was good at this, he was fast and he was erratic, there was no way the bull could miss him, Derek thought fondly, resting his chin on his arms where they rested on the fence.

Things had changed after that night, deepened from teasing kisses in the changing room and shared slightly stale sandwiches from home to…more. Neither of them had acknowledged it, it was unspoken and yet as obvious as the sunlight peaking through the light clouds above on a humid day. Not just because they had shared parts of themselves that they never had before, but because Stiles had made Derek stop and think after all these years of running.

He watched as Stiles dodged out of the way and the gate closed behind the bull, watched Stiles dust himself off and search the crowds for him. Derek gave him an affectionate if distracted smile and tipped his hat.

Stiles’s smile was brighter than the sunlight breaking the clouds.

Derek had no idea what he wanted to do, but he knew he wanted to see that smile forever.

“Bruised your ass pretty good there,” he teased as Stiles approached, ducking under the fence where Derek stood.

“Hey, you think it’s so hard to stay on the bull? Try not getting flattened by it after _you_ clowns have riled them up,” Stiles said with half-hearted indignance even as Derek righted his hat for him, struggling not to smile.

“You think you could do better?” Derek challenged lightly.

Stiles hesitated and Derek flicked the brim of his hat. “C’mon cowboy, I’ve got your back.”

*

At this time of day, things were pretty empty in _Finstock’s_ , the rodeo bar that lined Finstock’s pockets even out of season and complimented the rodeo business perfectly all year round. The music thumped through the speakers around the walls and lights flickered subtly, dulled by the orangey overheads that wouldn’t die down until the crowds started really drawing in later that night.

It was a warm atmosphere, much more to Derek’s taste without the crowds that tended to get a bit rowdy. It was the only themed bar around and so it attracted a variety of clientele, anyone looking for something new. Back at the start, when he’d been scrambling for cash, Derek had done a few shifts as a waiter here to make money. That was pretty much what had brought him to Finstock’s attention in the first place as a bull rider.

Now there were only a few people at the bar and at the booths on the far side and things were mostly quiet. As he walked in, Derek felt almost like, with Stiles at his side, it was a completely different world. It was like the way Stiles made him feel, whatever that was, could change everything. Even himself.

As he cut a glance Stiles’s way, he thought he saw the reflection of himself there, the knowledge that this was somehow more formal than their casual interactions before, even in spite of the light-hearted atmosphere. This was more and yet not enough all at once.

“I’ll level with you, I’m about to piss my pants a bit,” Stiles laughed as they hopped over the small padded ‘arena’ in the corner of the bar and approached the mechanical bull.

“You dodge real live bulls and _this_ scares you?”

“Well, I’m in control of my own feet there,” Stiles argued, “I’m reckless not stupid.”

Derek tilted his head slightly, “I was afraid the first time too,” he said. “In fact, it’s because of this thing that Finstock realised I had potential.” He remembered the bar work, remembered the drunken assholes daring him to ride, the scrawny, sullen kid that wasn’t even allowed to work the bar. He remembered doing so well Finstock had simultaneously screamed at him for ignoring his tables and in glee at his potential. He smiled at the memory.

“Well, we don’t all have those thighs,” Stiles bemoaned in a way that was also appraising, even as he grasped the handle at the base of the mechanical bull’s neck and hauled himself up. He shimmied, settling awkwardly into place and Derek stepped forward on instinct, running a hand over Stiles’s thigh to urge him to shift into a more secure position. But as he did so, he heard Stiles’s pulse leap and he lifted his gaze so that their eyes could meet.

The lights danced in Stiles’s eyes, across the shadow of his jaw and Derek felt his gaze search him deeper than skin. He squeezed Stiles’s thigh through soft denim once, let his thumb brush at the inside like a promise.

“Just make it to the bell, right?” Stiles teased, a little breathlessly.

Derek ducked his head to hide a smile. “To the bell, Stilinski.”

He stepped to the side of the small padded area, pushing the lever to start the ride. It rocked in slow, jerking movements. “We’ll start slow,” Derek said, with the same heavy, husky tone he used when they were entangled in dressing rooms and the back of trucks. He heard Stiles’s pulse stutter again and knew it had nothing to do with the way the mechanical bull lurched faster now, harder, tossing Stiles in his tenuous seat and testing the grip of his thighs and hand on the grip at the front.

He watched Stiles in those long seconds, his face set in glorious determination. Derek felt something in him _tick_ the way Stiles’s pulse did. Then the bull bucked Stiles off onto the surrounding mats and Derek shut it off, letting it slow with a low whirr. When he reached down to offer Stiles a hand up, Stiles yanked him hard down onto the matting with a whoop of laughter.

It was then he realised he’d started thinking about seeing Stiles tonight, tomorrow, the night after that, thinking about the future instead of just the past.

*

It was like being in his own world with the rush of the rodeo, with the opportunity to financially secure his family finally within reach and the light of Stiles’s coffee kisses, his devilish little smiles and the summer evenings they shared together. It was the best summer of Derek’s life and for once, he felt a warmth that the past couldn’t touch.

Stiles even met Cora and Laura on one of the beginners’ events Finstock ran, where Derek was paid to help show rookies the ropes. They’d surprised him by using their day with Peter to wheel him up to the stands and watch Derek fail at interacting with the rest of the world. They all went to lunch after too which went better than he’d anticipated.

Stiles had an inquisitive nature and liked to ask questions and he actually seemed to gel really well with Peter, which was…terrifying, actually.

He listened to Stiles and Cora banter, seeing Peter looking so well and Laura much less stressed since last he’d glimpsed her in passing to and from work. Once or twice, Peter side-eyed him with a knowing look, a carefully neutral expression that only their familial and alpha/beta connection allowed Derek decipher. He was thinking about what they were and what Stiles was unaware of. He met Peter’s gaze though and Derek thought that it was questioning, rather than judgemental, pondering the idea of his otherwise reclusive nephew opening up to a stranger who had no idea what they were.

Stiles had to head back to work after their impromptu ‘family’ lunch and there was this briefest hesitation, a fleeting moment where they lingered outside the café and Stiles just looked at him, uncertain. In the end he seemed to go for broke and stole a quick kiss, just at the corner of Derek’s mouth. With a mischievous grin, he waved goodbye in a way that only Stiles could and headed across the car park toward the _Jeep_.

“You’re positively smitten, nephew,” Peter teased, his delighted smirk not even tarnished when Laura had to help him into the truck.

“I could say the same for you, I haven’t heard you talk that much in years,” Cora cut in before Derek could say a word.

“Well, it’s rare that I am presented with someone with an intellect on par with mine,” Peter said simply. He buckled himself in as the others all piled into the car and Derek, who was in the front passenger seat, could feel Peter’s gaze in the back of his head as Laura pulled out onto the road.

“He doesn’t know about us.”

It was a statement, not an accusation or question, not heavy with any meaning, just a light observation in that neutral tone Peter had perfected at a young age.

Derek tensed.

He felt Laura cut a glance to him, though she remained silent.

“No, he doesn’t.”

A long silence filled the car.

“I haven’t seen you this…alive in a long time, not even when you’re riding those revolting animals.”

Derek stared determinedly out of the passenger side window. He’d told Stiles things, shared things that he hadn’t even shared with his family, about how the fire had made him feel, about the loneliness, the helplessness that had followed, about the rodeo, all of it. Stiles had taken it in his stride, had answered his trust with his own heavy secrets but this was…this was Peter’s call.

Peter was the alpha and Peter had been the one to lose the most out of all of them. It had to be his decision, Derek had to respect that, especially after how vulnerable they’d realised they were. A family of rogue hunters with very little insight into them had torn their family to pieces once. While _he_ trusted Stiles, that didn’t mean Peter or even Laura and Cora trusted him with their most guarded secret.

Carefully, he turned his head enough to meet his uncle’s gaze. “And if I wanted to tell him one day?”

Peter’s face was unreadable. “I hadn’t considered it’d ever become an issue, not with you, at any rate. Your trust in people is very hard-won.”

Derek’s brow furrowed, but as his lips parted to question Peter’s response, his uncle continued.

“It’s not _just_ him, Derek. It’s the way things felt, after the fire. It doesn’t feel right. Not yet.”

Derek nodded stiffly, before turning his gaze to the road as Laura quietly drove them back to Finstock’s so Derek could get his truck. It was fine, it’d only been a few months, there was plenty of time for Stiles to prove himself worthy of their secret.

For the first time, Derek wasn’t in any rush to get anywhere or away from anything.

*

Derek was tense as he watched his competition come and go through the ring. Some reached the buzzer, some didn’t. Some let nerves get the better of them or just had bad luck. But he had to do it. His fingers curled, white-knuckled, even his arms were folded across his chest as he stared without really seeing, his thoughts, his anxiety rolling over and over in his mind until he felt nauseous with it.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly as he came to stand beside him. “I drew your round today. Think Finstock thinks I’ll bring you luck.”

Derek’s lips twitched with a smile but the nervousness he was struggling to hold at bay didn’t abate.

Then Stiles swept around to stand in front of him, pulling the hat that had been hanging from Derek’s neck by the strap back onto his head, righting it carefully. “You are gonna kick ass out there, alright? You’ve got this. You’re the one everyone has come here to see. So show them what you’re made of and win that prize, okay?”

Derek searched Stiles’s gaze, as if he could secure some of the confidence Stiles had in him for himself. Stiles believed in him and Derek, well he knew he was good, of course he did but so much could go wrong and werewolf reflexes couldn’t protect him from all of them. And he needed that money, his family needed it. This was it.

“Make it to the bell, Hale,” Stiles said with a grin and Derek was so struck by his sincere, teasing affection that he couldn’t help but offer a small smile in response.

When his name came up, he approached the gate. Stiles followed two other rodeo clowns under the fence along the side, getting into position and Derek waited for the bull to settle somewhat, before climbing up onto his back. In the brief moments he waited there, tensed ready for the gates to fly open, he felt them. He felt his pack, his family watching somewhere from the stands, felt Stiles’s presence as keenly as if he were right next to him. Felt himself centre, focus as a result, anchored by their presence.

The gates crashed open and the bull surged forward, bucking, kicking. Derek held on, riding the erratic, jerking movements of the bull and moving into them rather than standing rigid against them. Rather than trying to hold fast against the inevitable push and pull. The buzzer sounded. Derek closed his eyes, counting in his head. A little longer, a little longer.

The seconds trickled by like hours. The bull jerked violently and Derek let himself drop off the side rather than risk hurting him by holding on. He rolled in the dirt. He scrambled sideways, but just as he went to move to his feet the bull slammed into the side of him, his powerful body crashing against Derek’s shoulder and sending him sprawling.

The rodeo clowns were waving their hands, whistling and shouting, but when Derek looked up, his eyes found Stiles and his stomach dropped. The bull barrelled toward him, dust flying and Stiles ducked sideways but not fast enough. One of the bull’s horns tore across Stiles’s side as he thrashed, a deep gouge that sent blood spraying into the air and Stiles went down. Another of the rodeo clowns let out a shriek, drawing the bull’s attention but Derek’s was focussed utterly on Stiles.

He half-ran, half-scrambled through the dust to reach him, his eyes fast as they searched the bloody mess of his side. Stiles wasn’t screaming though, wasn’t anything. His face was white and he was shaking. In shock.

Fuck there was so much blood, so much…

He could hear Finstock calling for the medics they had on hand, but the bull was still charging nearby and none of the medics wanted to risk climbing in to help. He could hear the screams, he could hear Stiles’s heart pushing blood faster round his body, only for it to spill out his side.

Derek hauled him up into his arms.

“Stay with me, Stiles,” he whispered urgently, softly, over and over, “Stay with me.”

“Hale! Where are you...?! Hale, that kid needs to get to the medic! HALE!”

But the bull was still dominating the ring and when Derek moved, he wasn’t sure how but everything just fell away behind him. Derek felt more than heard or saw Laura, stepping in, distracting Finstock even as the crowds surged forward, trying to get a look in. They swarmed so ferociously that Derek somehow managed to get lost in them all. The medic bay was right next to the ring but Derek dodged aside, instead carrying Stiles quickly into the storage and laying him on the ground.

“Stay with me, Stiles,” Derek said, softly but no less urgently. He heard the medics, the uproar over Stiles’s absence. He heard Finstock looking for him, heard Laura’s diversionary tactics that were so well-practiced after a lifetime of secrecy. There would be questions, there would be confusion and there would be medical questions, but only Derek had gotten a good look at Stiles’s side. He was the only one that knew for sure that nothing the medical team, talented though they were, could do for this level of injury.

And God, Stiles didn’t even want to be here, did he? Not really. This was for his dad, for the dream his mother had built that stood for so much, so…

Stiles didn’t have time for them to get him to hospital.

There was only just enough time for this. For Cora to wheel Peter into the storage room, unnoticed admist the commotion outside and close the door firmly behind them before wheeling Peter closer to Stiles.

“Do something,” Derek breathed, harsh and rough as he tried to put pressure on Stiles’s wound and hold the tattered shreds of his own control together simultaneously. “Peter, _do_ something!”

“He’s in shock,” Cora whispered, feather-light in her horror.

Derek set his jaw tightly and Peter? Peter just regarded Stiles’s so deathly still body, the way his chest rose and fell, the way blood swelled across his shirt like as blooming, scarlet flower.

“Peter!” Derek snapped.

Ice-blue eyes locked on Derek’s. “Is this boy worth the risk, Derek?”

“Yes.”

When Peter still didn’t move, Derek pulled Stiles up carefully so that he was resting back against Derek’s chest, so that, if Peter desired, he could simply reach down to clasp his shoulder or arm, could touch him, could save him without straining out of the chair.

He knew what he was asking, knew Peter used much of his alpha strength to recover from his own injuries every day. He knew that while Peter wouldn’t die, he could very well lose his alpha spark in this dangerous process, could delay his healing by even more years without its aid. But Stiles was dying and Derek couldn’t process a world without him in it.

He was selfish and yet that didn’t stop him asking.

For years he’d taken the weight of so much on his shoulders, had tried to make ends meet so Laura could work the job she’d worked her ass off at school to get, so Cora could go to school, so Peter wouldn’t be alone in the comatose abyss he’d initially been stuck in. He’d struggled alone without asking for anything, unable to reach out and grasp even the help of his pack.

Now he was asking for the earth. He knew he was. Because pride and self-sufficiency and determination, focus, it was all worthless in the face of loneliness. Stiles had taught him that.

“I’ve never asked you for anything,” Derek pleaded, voice thick. “So please, Peter.”

There was one more long, terrible second, filled with a thick, raspy breath clogged with dangerous wetness in Stiles’s throat. Then Peter’s eyes bled red.

The door opening didn’t make any of them flinch. Stiles was trapped in the terrifying distant plain of shock and the wolves had felt Laura’s approach as readily as if they’d seen it with their own eyes. She closed the door behind her quickly and made her way to their side, eyes fixed on Derek and Stiles.

“Lend me your arm, niece,” Peter said gently, outwardly unruffled, even as his eyes stayed trained on Stiles. Laura knelt down hurriedly, letting Peter grasp her arm as he reached for Stiles with the other. Cora set both hands on Peter’s shoulders, squeezing tightly, her face twisted with anxiety as Peter’s fingers curled around the back of Stiles’s limp neck.

Derek clasped the arm Peter had extended toward Stiles too, connecting them all in an unending circle, just like the pack bond and Derek shuddered as he felt it trickle through him, the electric current of his alpha’s healing spark. It was hot, itchy, tingly, made his fangs grow long and his eyes flash gold. He tilted his head to stare at Stiles’s face, unable to watch the wound in his side, unable to face it if they were too late, if even their combined strength couldn’t knit him back together.

He smelt rather than saw the sweat beading across Peter’s brow, heard his laboured breathing. Derek willed everything he had toward Peter. He saw the way his energy and his sisters’ trickled across Peter’s body through the places they touched, radiant light that made Peter’s veins glow white through the veil of his skin, feeding right down into Peter’s fingertips and sweeping through Stiles until the veins all up his neck glowed with the same ethereal light.

He felt an uncomfortable tug under his skin, like his very blood was being sucked out of him but then Peter grit his teeth, no, his _fangs._ He tensed visibly as if he’d been electrocuted and then he slumped, falling back in his chair and breathing hard, eyes still bright red from where he looked down at Derek and Stiles from beneath weary eyelids.

Derek looked down at Stiles swiftly. His face was pinker than it had been moments before and his heart rate was settling. Brown eyes blinked slowly, as if he were starting to come back to himself. Trying to manage his expectations, his hope, Derek carefully lifted Stiles’s bloodied shirt enough to glimpse his side. There was so much blood, a terrifying amount, actually, but beneath it nothing more than smooth skin.

Stiles licked his lips, a fleeting little motion, but a monumental signal of life. His eyes tracked to Derek’s where his face was hovering over his and he blinked bleary eyes into focus even as Derek watched. “Hey,” he murmured, voice rough and jagged around the edges. He patted Derek’s bloodied forearm dazedly. But then he squinted, eyes darting from Derek’s face to Cora’s, Laura’s, Peter’s. It took Derek a moment to register through the shock of relief that all of their eyes were still glowing.

“Whoa, how hard did I hit my head?”

Derek was stunned to silence. He couldn’t say anything.

“There isn’t a lot of time, Stiles,” Laura said, gentle but firm, in that same way that their mother had when she’d been alive. She rose shakily to touch Peter’s shoulder. He looked alright, if a little drained and Derek wished he had the words, the presence of mind to thank him to… _something_ but Stiles was alive and talking and looking at them with confused coherency and he didn’t know how to process that after seeing him in a bloodied heap on the floor.

His own blood was pounding through his ears and it was like he was watching everything from so far away. He could only hold onto Stiles like a child with a blanket or a bear that somehow gave them some semblance of comfort and strength.

“Finstock and the medical team will be looking for you,” Laura continued. “When they find you, they’ll have questions and Stiles? It’s important that you answer them very, very carefully.”

For once, Stiles was lost for words, looking from each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on Derek for the longest time, before he met Laura’s eyes once more. Even through the shock, the bewilderment, his burning need for answers though, he must’ve sensed the urgency in Laura’s tone because he just nodded shakily. “Tell me what to do,” he managed, struggling weakly up into a sitting position.

*

That ride had apparently won Derek the final, but it still all felt a little bit surreal, distanced, empty, because he’d been trapped in this limbo ever since. He always felt like this when the season ended, a little deflated, like he was on a sharp come-down from the near constant adrenaline high. This was different though, this was something like worry and loss all at once.

He, Laura and Cora alternated sitting with Peter in the days that followed. Their proximity helped to restore his strength until he was his usual sharp self. When Derek walked into his room a few days after the incident, he was giving his usual nurse hell and then gave _Derek_ hell for not showing up with the right kind of cheesecake after pestering him for it.

“If this pining is going to interfere with your ability to recall the correct dessert your alpha has requested, I hope that you deal with it swiftly,” Peter said as he made a great show of sniffing the salted caramel fudge cheesecake like it was arsenic, all because it wasn’t the _chocolate_ caramel fudge cheesecake he’d waved Derek off to fetch for him.

Derek didn’t usually mind fetching things for Peter. When he sent him off on idle little missions like fetching pudding it usually meant he was feeling well enough in himself to tease, which was good. The fact that he was hitting a nerve in regards to the pining though, made him scowl.

With an elaborate sigh, Peter set his fork down and stared at him hard. “For such a clever man, Derek, you really are stupid. You just don’t see it, do you?”

When Derek only scowled further, Peter raised his eyebrows. “What we did that day, it wouldn’t have worked if he wasn’t yours, Derek, if he wasn’t connected to your alpha through _you_. We can take anyone’s pain but that kind of healing? It’s for pack alone.”

Derek felt his throat tighten, felt his mouth dry up with the resounding, indisputable truth of those words. And yet, he hadn’t seen Stiles in days. He’d been shaken after the ‘reveal’, obviously in shock from his scrape with death but he’d firmly refused Derek’s offer to take him home after the mystified medics signed him off in full health. Cora had driven him home instead and when she’d returned, she’d given Derek this hesitant look and just told him Stiles needed some space.

Space was fine, understandable, even, especially to Derek who had never really wanted or needed anyone in _his_ quite like this before. But there was the little issue that he had started to realise that this perhaps wasn’t what he wanted to do anymore, so now he had no idea what to do with himself while he waited for Stiles to process what he’d seen.

His winnings this season had paid for Cora’s final year at college, had paid off their outstanding debt with the medical facility, had left them with the down-payment on a bigger place for them so that Peter could come home to a place he’d be able to finish recovering with his pack around him, when he was hopefully released in the fall.

Derek was free to choose whatever he wanted for the first time, without worrying about anyone else and he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with that freedom apart from…share it with Stiles.

They’d never really talked about it, even though it had been Stiles that had gotten Derek thinking of the future, of what he wanted to do after this season was over, because he was sure it wasn’t rodeo, not anymore. But they’d never talked about _them_ or the fact that they both knew Stiles had only been in it for the extra, conveniently scheduled cash while his dad was out of commission. They hadn’t talked about after, about where that would leave them when Stiles wouldn’t be there every day, in the place where Derek had been stable but not exactly happy, not daring to even _try_ and be.

Was it always destined to end after the season? Whether Stiles had found out what he was or not? Had Stiles ever intended for them to find out how to make things work when the rodeo was over? And regardless of what part Stiles wanted to play in his future, what did _Derek_ want to do with it?

_Stiles_ , he kept thinking. _Just Stiles._ That was all he wanted while he tried to make the rest of it slot into place. He knew Peter spoke the truth, that there was some deeper connection there, at least for Derek. Derek had known that since the first time Stiles had pushed his way into Derek’s space and kept pushing until he got more of a reaction, more life from him than anyone else had. But had Stiles felt it too?

Derek started when he felt a soft hand over his where it rested on the arm of the chair and glanced up to see Laura standing over him, a soft smile on her face. Funny, how since all this had happened, the tables had turned and _he_ seemed to be the one they were all rallying around, as if he had gotten skewered by a raging bull.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

Derek frowned. “Stiles was the one who got hurt.”

With a sigh, Laura tossed her hair over her shoulder and sat cross-legged on the end of Peter’s bed. “You didn’t see your face, when he got hurt. Derek, you just…” She bit her lip, a thing Derek hadn’t seen her do since before the fire, before she’d been thrown into the role of head of the family for the sake of her barely legal brother and little sister, her _then_ comatose uncle and alpha. She was an alpha without any of the power and yet strength in abundance. The kind of strength Derek had tried to imitate all these years.

“We’ve all gone through a lot but you’ve never really allowed yourself the time to process it.”

Derek tensed and Laura hastily continued.

“I don’t mean you haven’t been strong or haven’t dealt with it, it’s more like…well, you’ve been dealing with it in a different way. You’ve been keeping busy, trying to keep us all going, which I appreciate because if you hadn’t gotten that job with the rodeo, I would’ve had to quit my internship or…I don’t even know.” Her eyes glistened wetly and she gave a sad, vulnerable smile that Derek ached to see.

“When we lost everything, I tried to be…be mom and dad and everything you needed. But then I let you take on this huge burden and your needs, your feelings had to be put aside for it. I was...I’ve been selfish, just letting you do more and more, not putting my foot down and I’m so sorry Derek I…” She drew in a breath, thick with unshed tears and shook her head to gather herself. Perhaps it had been the horrified look on Derek’s face, or the disbelief in it or perhaps she even _felt_ she was getting off track because she regained her composure and stared him straight in the eyes.

“When Stiles got hurt, it was like the shock of everything we went through finally hit you at the same time. Like…Derek you didn’t even _talk_ after, do you not realise that? It was like your brain finally thought that it was the right time. Time to deal with it all at once and you were devastated, you _are_ devastated, not just by him but everything you’ve pushed back over the years to help _us._ We are your pack. We’re meant to help you but it’s Stiles he’s…he’s so good for you. He made you feel safe enough, open up enough to ask us for help after all these years. To be vulnerable.”

Derek just stared at her, felt like he had fallen back, lost his footing and now he was reeling backward, arms flailing out but finding no purchase. He was spinning out into nothingness, waiting for the ground to catch up with him or someone to steady him. His breathing was a little rough, a little shaky and he could _feel_ his every muscle vibrating with the anxious fight or flight instinct that had nothing to battle or flee from that he could actually escape, not when it was all inside him, finally set loose after locking it up for so long.

His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment and then Peter sighed, having been watching the exchange with his usual shrewd eye. He dealt with emotions about as easily as Derek did, event though they avoided it in different ways.

“As nauseating as this melodrama is, your sister is right,” he said with a roll of his eyes, wincing as he shifted awkwardly in his wheelchair to reach his water and scowling at Laura when she moved to help. Yes, he was definitely feeling better, his independence and ability back to where it had been a few days ago and then some.

“As an expert on the subject, dear nephew, it’s high time you were selfish. Take a holiday, buy a ridiculous car or a flat screen TV, get a job cuddling kittens that pays nothing, whatever your revoltingly selfless little brain needs to put you first, for once.” For all his bark and feigned irritation, he looked at Derek then as firmly as Laura had. There was no room for misunderstanding that he too, was worried for him, wanted things for him. “Do whatever you want.”

_But I don’t know what that is and the person I want to figure that out with is scared of me._ Derek winced at the initial thought that sprang into his head. He set his teeth against the self-pitying notion and thanked his self-control that he hadn’t said it aloud. There must’ve been something in his eyes though, because Peter cocked his head slightly and gave him a knowing almost-smile.

For a split-second, Derek was sure some of the burns across the side of his face had faded somewhat, as the pale, grey morning light outside kissed his skin.

“Werewolves and magical healing and near death experiences were a lot to dump on him all at once, especially with everything he has going on with his father. Give him some time, he’s made of tougher stuff than you think.” Peter watched his words sink in for a moment, before he visibly shifted into his usual, teasing persona. “And in the mean time, get your shit together and do something ridiculous and self-indulgent. If I see you again and you still smell of nothing but rodeo bulls and grief I’ll cast you out as an omega.”

Derek sighed. He felt like the first thing he was going to do was sleep for a week. On impulse though, he reached out and snatched one of the doughnuts, one of Peter’s favourite doughnuts that Laura had brought with her. At Peter’s outright dismay at Derek’s interpretation of self-indulgence, Laura laughed until tears sprang to her eyes and Derek felt a smile touch the corners of his lips.

*

As much as Derek was accustomed to taking on a world of responsibility, he never really put himself out there. He didn’t take _personal_ risks. So he wasn’t quite sure what had brought him out here. All he’d known was he’d been flicking through some of the places the realtors had suggested to him to fit Peter’s needs, and he’d suddenly stopped, found himself staring hard at his phone without really seeing it and then he’d grabbed his keys.

He’d never been here before but he’d looked it up, knew the rough location. He hadn’t expected it to be like this. It wasn’t enormous, but the grazing land and paddocks stretched out down into the trees at the edges of the property and out of sight. A quaint house sat in the middle, well-kept but wholesome, like a typical ranch house that was a little rough around the edges.

Everything was golden with the early afternoon sun. The horses in the smallest paddock nearest the house nickered at him uncertainly when he got out of the truck outside the house and a few chickens considered him nervously too. Even as his feet carried him along the freshest scent that belonged to Stiles until he found himself standing in the doorway of the barn.

“Sorry, just a sec!” Stiles called out without looking up. There was a horse standing in the galley between the stalls, tied loosely to the beams and enjoying a brush down. Its ears pricked and its head lifting at Derek’s approach. Stiles’s long, sure movements with the brush hastened a little, as if he were just finishing up but then the horse shifted and he looked up. Their eyes met.

The scent of fresh straw and animals and Stiles all converged to this one, beautifully earthy aroma that to Derek just felt like _sunlight._ Stiles was rosy-cheeked from work and healthy looking, apart from the dark circles around his eyes.

He hadn’t been sleeping right either then.

“Uh, hi,” Derek offered softly, feeling oddly shy all of a sudden.

Stiles’s eyes roved over him, over the casual faded jeans and worn plaid shirt before settling on the familiar hat on his head. Derek felt colour burn at his ears. He’d just grabbed it on instinct, but it felt almost silly now. He never wore it outside work, except once or twice for exploring Stiles’s personal pleasures. But then a smile ticked at the corner of Stiles’s lips and Derek felt every tense inch of him _give_ like a loose knot.

“Hi,” Stiles replied, just as soft. His long fingers threaded through the neatly groomed mane of the appaloosa, a stunning creature with a pale body and brown spots gathered in a tight smear of colour across its face and neck, fanning out into speckles across it’s back. It seemed to be regarding Derek shrewdly, sizing him up in the same way some of the more daring bulls did at the rodeo.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly, when the silence between them stretched out into infinity. “You’re working, I should–”

“I’ve just finished, actually.” Stiles looked to the horse. “He’s mine, uh, I was just sorta, indulging, you know?”

Derek canted his head slightly. “You or him?”

Stiles grinned. “Both, actually. It’s relaxing or therapeutic, whatever you want to call it.” He hesitated, then seemed to gather himself. “Do you wanna go for a ride? With me, I mean?”

Derek started. “I…I’ve never been on a horse. Animals in general are sort of wary of me.”

“I guess I know why that is now.” There was no accusation in his words though and before Derek could overthink anything, Stiles added mischievously, “surely you’re okay with _dogs_ though? You’re basically related.”

That was how Derek knew they would be just fine.

To be fair, Stiles’s horse had just watched him carefully, had fidgeted a little apprehensively while Stiles tacked him up, eyes still on Derek. But as Stiles swung himself up into the saddle with ease, reached an arm down to help Derek up on behind him, he just…waited, patient and quiet and calm as if he _didn’t_ have a werewolf on his back.

“Don’t look so nervous,” Stiles teased as Derek shifted. The saddle seemed to be built to take two people on the horse’s broad, strong back and he settled into the space uneasily, hesitating only a moment before letting his arms sneak around Stiles.

When he’d been a kid, Peter had taken him on the back of his motorcycle once. It was basically the same, right?

Except the motorcycle hadn’t been _alive_ and Derek wasn’t ten years old and stupid.

“Pennyworth is a good boy, he won’t spook easy,” Stiles assured him.

“ _Pennyworth?_ ”

As ever, Stiles relaxed more the more he spoke. “Yeah, you know, like _Alfred Pennyworth_? Me and my mom were like… _Batman_ nerds. My mom chose him for me because, you know…the speckles?” Stiles gestured to the horse’s flank vaguely and then at the moles decorating his own throat and jaw. “She got him for me, to focus me, I guess. I had ADHD pretty bad when I was a kid and needed to really have passion for what I was doing to keep any focus, as well as a regular routine and…well a reason to bother to try? It was hard, for me and my parents. But my mom showed me how to take care of him and just…reminded me, that he needed me, you know? I _needed_ to for him. And he was so patient, it was really good, at least in my case…”

As he spoke, Stiles nudged the horse into movement by gently squeezing his calf muscles around his sides. He held the reins in one hand, but the other reached down to cover the place where Derek’s arms were wrapped around his middle. Derek squeezed him a bit tighter as the cadence of Stiles’s words and the horse’s movements carried them out into the afternoon sunshine.

Derek relaxed, despite years of riding much more feisty, flighty animals. This was…relaxing. He could get used to this, maybe, or maybe it was just Stiles? It was hard to tell sometimes, when one sensation of subtle pleasure or contentment rolled into the next, as if it were infinite, as if he hadn’t spent the last decade just getting by.

The horse followed an unofficial trail of flattened grass and earth between the paddocks and into the woods beyond. The trees were tall and scattered nicely apart so it was an easy ride. The sun trickled down through the trees above and painted the side of Stiles’s neck with dappled light, making a warmth spread through Derek’s body, trickle down into every part of him like hot syrup on the pancakes his mother used to make.

It was utterly different and yet filled him with the same sense of home, of belonging he hadn’t felt in years.

They talked the way they always had, only it was different now, because Stiles really _did_ know everything, didn’t he? And he was still there, still stroking his thumb across the hair on the back of Derek’s arms wrapped round him.

The trail lead through the gentle wilderness for a while, as untamed but as gentle as the man he embraced. Then the trees thinned and Pennyworth carried them forward enough for Derek to see that the ground dropped away in a steep cliff, a sharp outcropping that stretched out toward the town far below.

It was the most beautiful thing Derek had ever seen. Pennyworth stretched his neck out a little, grazing idly as if he were content to carry them for days at this leisurely pace, as if the journey itself were blissful and wondrous, no matter the direction or the destination. Derek reached back slightly, letting his fingers stroke over the horse’s rump tentatively, then… _gratefully_? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was he hadn’t encountered this gentle bliss before Stiles, hadn’t been faced with a creature that hadn’t feared him, hadn’t ever considered that this kind of slow trickle of bliss could carry him away from the world far more effectively than the rush he’d sought before.

“I was angry at first,” Stiles said after a while, staring out across the distant world below. “Scared too, I guess? Not of you really, but that there was this whole world I’d been living in and never even seen. I was angry you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, but then I calmed down and I realised it wasn’t your secret, that we weren’t…we weren’t _there_ before, not at the level of that kind of secret.”

Derek _heard_ Stiles bite his lip then but he also felt him relax back into Derek’s body as if he belonged there before he continued.

“I know you went to the long term care place to speak to my dad.”

With a wince, Derek gripped Stiles a little tighter. Then, slowly, as if he weren’t sure how to phrase his apology he said, “I…wanted to see if you were okay.”

Stiles twisted in the saddle to look at him with conviction in his eyes that looked almost amber in the sunlight. “I’m not afraid of you or Peter or what you are. And I’ll keep your secret. I never had any intention of _not_ keeping it. I just needed space. It was a lot, you know? I was pretty shaken up even if I wasn’t somehow magically werewolf healed.”

Derek winced. “It was a nasty fall.”

“Dude, it was pain like I’d never dreamed of.” Stiles turned back to look out over the town again, but when Derek’s hand twitched against his stomach, Stiles’s fingers slid down to weave between them. It wasn’t that Stiles was annoyed or hurt or angry, or that he was trying to put distance between them, it was just that some things were just easier to say when you weren’t looking at each other and that was fine. They both understood that, it had never stopped them talking before.

“I had so much going on in my head, you know?” Stiles murmured softly, his thumb busy across the side of Derek’s hand even as his fingers stayed anchored firmly between his, some part of him always moving, constantly. “With my dad and the ranch and working the rodeo, which, I’ll be honest, I used to actively campaign _against_ when I was a teenager. I think that’s why Finstock hired me, thought it was ironic, hypocritical, _funny,_ anyway. He’s a weird guy. But…yeah, I’ve been messed up. And I think I put you on this pedestal or whatever, like this _idol_ that anchored me in the middle of all that. Then…then I realised there were things about you I didn’t know and you became…real.”

Derek frowned. “Finding out I was a werewolf made me more real to you?”

“Shut up,” Stiles scoffed but without any real annoyance to his tone. “I just meant…I was forced to look at you like you had flaws and secrets and I had to reassess things, learn you again, I guess?”

Derek hesitated, licked his dry lips and stared at the constellations of moles down Stiles’s nape. “And what did you learn?”

The briefest of hesitations followed. “That I like you better this way, off the pedestal, where you make mistakes and questionable life choices and lean on me, even your family and…” Stiles grit his teeth. “I’m not making any sense, am I? I guess what I mean is, you’re not just this rodeo god who swept me up and spun me around until I didn’t know up from down in the best way possible. You were with me, and I think I want you to be with me more.”

Stiles was so warm against Derek’s chest, so strong in ways that even his supernatural strength hadn’t made him. But maybe Stiles could teach him.

“Me too.”

They weren’t at ‘ _that_ _place_ ’ before, but they were now.

They stayed out for a while longer, until the sun started to dip and the air grow colder. Pennyworth carried them back through the woods to the house and as Stiles rubbed him down and settled the horse back into his stall, he turned to Derek with a thoughtful look on his face.

“My dad might get released to go home soon, pending his assessment next week. So…I’m going to be needed here more, and I won’t really need to be scraping together extra cash where I can.”

He wouldn’t be at _Finstock’s_ anymore.

“I want you to come work with me here, if you’d like.”

Derek started, not out of repulsion but out of sheer surprise. “I don’t know how to ride horses. I don’t know anything about them. Animals have an instinctive aversion to me.”

“They don’t. You saw with Pennyworth, they’re initially wary, like they would be with anyone new, maybe on a slightly higher scale, but once they warm to you they’re fine. You’re just like anyone else, Derek, you’re not a rabid dog. And anyway, I can teach you, the work and the riding, I mean. That’s a big part of what I do – teach people to ride, take them on treks across the county. I’m good at it too.” A big smile spread slowly across his face like the sun spreading across the horizon and Derek thought, yes, yes he must be. Stiles was good at bringing people out of their shells, not _pushing_ them but pulling them along with him to reach out for things they might not have alone.

“I was going to have to hire a new hand, to be honest. There’s so much work to do here and I’ve enrolled some new clients to cover the outstanding hospital bills for dad.”

Derek’s quiet intrigue, his quiet contemplation must’ve shown on his face because Stiles’s smile turned positively devious.

“Don’t worry, the chores are hard work but straight-forward and if you’re scared of the horses I could always set you up with one of the dairy cows from McCall’s across the reserve.

A bark of laughter ripped out of Derek unbidden, caught Stiles up in it until they were both laughing all the way outside, where Stiles introduced Derek to the safest way to bring the horses in for the night now the weather was turning colder.

*

Finstock stared at him in wild-eyed disbelief. “You…what?”

“I’m handing in my resignation.” He didn’t know if it’d work out at the Stilinski ranch, but he had time to figure out if it was what he wanted to do, had space to figure out what he wanted at long last. “Stiles and his dad need some help and I think I might actually be good at it.” He gave a little shrug, aiming for nonchalance but inside he felt something like eagerness fluttering in him, like a bird finding flight for the first time.

Finstock just stared at him. “It’s a bit safe for you, isn’t it, Hale?”

A smirk nipped at the edges of Derek’s lips. “Well, maybe I’m ready for safe, for a bit of peace and…well, the good stuff people seem to want.” Maybe he’d let himself deserve it at last.

For the first time ever, Finstock seemed stunned to silence, blinking almost owlishly at Derek. His fingers still clasped Derek’s letter of resignation as if he’d never seen anything like it before. Technically, Derek wouldn’t be working right now anyway but he wanted to do things right. Finstock had given him direction and opportunity and perhaps even silent understanding when he’d needed it most. He wanted to let him know he had no intentions of coming back. That this wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

He wanted something that lit him up from the inside, the way Stiles did. That might sound like a daydream or some fanciful imagining to someone down to earth like Finstock though and Derek braced himself for disappointment, for disbelieving irritation. But what he got was…

“Finally decided what you wanna do with yourself, huh?” Finstock sighed, but with an edge of fondness to his usual bark. His gaze flicked over Derek’s shoulder and Derek knew he’d seen Stiles sitting in his eyesore of a blue _Jeep_ , waiting for him, probably offering Finstock a little wave as usual.

“Life’s one big rodeo, kid, you stay in that saddle, you hear me?”

Derek’s lips twitched. “There isn’t a saddle, Coach.”

“Then you hold onto that rope.” He looked at Stiles again. “Or that kid, he’ll hold you on, alright.” He half-squeezed, half-shook Derek’s shoulder, and for a moment something warm and proud shone in his eyes that made Derek’s throat go tight.

Stiles didn’t pull away the second Derek climbed into the passenger seat. Instead he waited, fingers dithering idly on the steering wheel for a moment or two. Then he turned his head to peek at Derek, who was mostly watching Finstock retreat in the wing mirror, emotions warring inside him in spite of his surety that he was doing the right thing.

Some of that must’ve shown in his face because when he finally locked eyes with Stiles, he was met with a reassuring smile.

“Ready to go meet ‘the bossman’?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Stiles, I’ve met your dad before – many times.”

“Sure, but as of today he’s your boss _and_ your boyfriend’s dad, could get scary. You think you can handle it?”

Derek scowled good-naturedly, but when Stiles put the _Jeep_ into gear, Derek covered his hand on the shift with his own. “I’m ready.”

Stiles smirked. “Don’t worry, cowboy. I’ve got your back.”

For once the _Jeep_ spluttered to life first time, gliding easily out onto the road. The smell of early autumn drifted in on the breeze through the open windows. It spread like fingers through Derek’s hair and he lifted his chin just fractionally into it, closing his eyes for a second to feel the lingering ghosts of his past fall away behind them, scatter on the waning summer wind.

Stiles’s long fingers crept across his denim-clad thigh, anchoring him through it all as he drove them toward whatever was waiting for them. Together.

The End.


End file.
